by John McCuaig
With their axes and swords at the ready, they inched their way outside and found themselves standing by a small waterfall. Pizarro gazed at its splendid beauty for a moment before the sounds around him, sounds of something approaching, snapped him back to reality.
They could all hear them coming. The screams, grunts and groans of the undead were echoing all around them but their point of origin seemed to emanate away to their left. “Go,” Minco said quietly, urgently, and then began running again- not in the opposite direction of the beasts, however, he went straight ahead.
“Are you damn sure this is the right way to go?” Pizarro asked as he listened to the sounds of hell growing around him. No doubt just like the others, he had a strong urge to run the other way.
“Yes, we need to get to the road as quickly as we can,” Minco said, quickening his pace. “If we stay inside the jungle, we’ll be far too slow. Trust me, this is our only chance.”
They did their best to match Minco’s quick pace, and when they did, he went even faster, urging them on as best he could. Their swords and axes cut a swath through the thick jungle. Fear filled their souls as they heard the hordes around them but they could still not see more than a few feet ahead. Then it happened- the first of their screams rang out. They had been found. Two Spaniards at the rear were grabbed and pulled away and into the foliage. It was their frantic calls for help that were now filling the air as hungry mouths tore into their flesh.
Almargo slowed his run and glanced backward in time to see his men disappear. He looked ahead at Pizarro who was still racing onwards. He had no care for his fallen men. The old soldier thought of going to their aid until the sight of a dozen more of the undead spilling out from the jungle turned him on his heels and he ran again.
“Keep moving! Once we are out onto the open road, we will be faster than them,” Minco shouted. “Just a little farther and we’ll be in the clear.”
They were not quick enough. Another three- two Incans and a Spaniard were caught and they too were thrown back into the onrushing hordes. Their pitiful screams for help lasted only a few short seconds before they were silenced by the power of the beasts. At this rate, they would all be slaughtered within a few minutes.
Just as they felt the last of their hopes seeming to disappear, a few more heavy swipes at the jungle cleared away the last of the rich, green foliage. Spilling out onto the road, they could at last truly stretch their legs. They pumped their muscles like never before and tried to put some distance between themselves and the undead. Not all of them made it away. Another couple of their brave party fell under the advance of the undead before they could all make it out into the open.
They ran and they ran. Glancing behind every so often, they saw the hundreds of the Ukhu Pacha slowly but surely drop farther and farther behind, their injuries when turned, taking their toll. After about fifteen minutes, the undead army were nowhere to be seen. Even so, it seemed clear, all that fear and adrenaline that was rushing through the little group’s veins kept them running.
A couple of hours later, as they arrived at a large, deserted crossroads, Minco ordered the group to come to a halt. “Stop,” he shouted, raising his arms high so all could see. “We’ll wait here and catch our breath. We also need to see if anyone else has made it out.” He looked back down the deserted road with no real hope; he knew only too well that none of the other soldiers would be coming; none that were alive anyway.
The call for rest couldn’t have come soon enough for Pizarro. He bent over double and for the first time in his life, he felt his advancing years. His lungs burned hot and every one of his muscles felt knotted and tight. As he tried to catch his breath, his mind once again went to his gold. He told himself that once he had his prize, he would never need to run again.
As Pizarro raised his head, he saw a small collection of single story buildings set along one of the corners of the crossroads. In front of the first one, he saw what looked like a water barrel with a large ladle hanging on its side. Without thought or hesitation, he walked over to take his fill. He picked up the ladle, first using it to brush away the leaves that had settled on top of the water before filling it with the liquid. Even though it tasted slightly stale and stagnant, the water brought a great relief to his dry and thirsty mouth and throat.
As he bent over to take another, much-needed spoonful, he caught sight of his reflection in the water. He rubbed his hand over his face, hardly believing the amount of grey that had appeared in his hair and beard since the last time he had seen himself. Then, he noticed that a figure had appeared at his shoulder. As the water slowly stopped rippling, Pizarro felt a jolt as he realised it was one of the undead behind him.
Spinning around, he came face to face with an old and grizzled looking Incan soldier, its neck torn away so badly that it made not a single sound, even as it opened and closed its mouth.
Pizarro’s hand reached for his rapier sword but the beast’s cold, undead hand fell over his wrist like a vice. He tried to pull away but it was much stronger than he was and the fear rushed through his blood as it attacked. Its head jutted forward and Pizarro’s free hand clamped around its jaw just in time to stop its teeth from closing in on his face. The soldier may have been even older than Pizarro in life, but in its death, its strength easily dwarfed his own and it pushed the Spaniard backwards with ease. Pizarro fell to the ground and the undead soldier followed him down, teeth inching closer until its stench filled Pizarro’s nostrils.
The Spaniard could hear his comrades coming over to his aid but he knew they would be too late. He could not hold the beast off any longer. As he prayed to his own god for help, he remembered his concealed weapon. Using the last of his strength, he twisted his wrist, releasing the blade from his sleeve. The tightly coiled spring sent the blade up at great speed and through the jaw of the undead soldier, imbedding itself deep into the creature’s brain. It showed him no pain. Its strength just slowly ebbed away until only a dead husk was lying on top of him. Pizarro didn’t even have the strength left to push it away, so he waited there, humiliated until his own soldiers arrived and dragged away the still corpse.
As he rose up and dusted himself off, he cursed himself for straying so far away from the group. In a fit of sheer anger, he kicked the dead soldier full force in the head, clearly snapping its neck. That still wasn’t enough. He spat into its unmoving face. Finally remembering himself, he looked around for Minco, prepared to hear some new sarcastic comment. It was only then that he saw the Protector standing alone in the middle of the road, seemingly oblivious to what had just happened.
13- The return to Tarapoto
Minco was stuck deep in his own little world. He looked down all four directions of the now quiet crossroads in turn. Behind him, the undead army were on their way and everyone in the party knew that they would soon be here. Forward, to the north, would take them nearly all the way to the City of Huacas, but his eyes, and his heart, kept being drawn to the left hand path. That was the road to Tarapoto, to where his younger brother, Ayar, had been stationed. He had heard from a couple of the runners that the town had been completely overrun, and all of its citizens were devoured by the undead. Even so, he needed to know what his brother’s fate had been. Deep down, he knew what the likely answer would be, but he still had to be sure.
“Pizarro,” he called out as he turned back to the main body of men. He waved his arm at the Spaniard. “Come over here. We need to talk.”
The Spaniard marched over to him, cursing continually under his breath. He was still trying to wipe the remains of the undead soldier’s blood from his small blade. His hands were still shaking from his earlier, deadly surprise.
“I’m going to have to leave you for a while,” Minco said, not looking at Pizarro. His eyes were on the road to Tarapoto. “There is something I must do first. My men will keep you on the road to Huacas. I will return to you before nightfall.”
“You’re not going bloody anywhere,” Pizarro spat back, he was not
in the mood for any more of the Incan’s tricks. “We’ve got to stay together and finish this damned nightmare. Minco, do I have to remind you where your King is and your pledge to protect him.”
The Incan just shook his head. “No. But what I must do I must do alone. Do not be concerned for my King or me. As I said, I’ll catch up with you soon enough.” He strode off down the road toward Tarapoto.
“Get back here now!” Pizarro shouted after him. “Minco! I’m warning you, get the hell back here!”
Minco did not turn around until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Swinging around with his axe at the ready to strike, he cursed himself upon seeing who it was; he should have instantly recognised that tender touch. It was the hand of Inguill, his lover.
“What in the name of the Gods do you think you’re doing,” he snapped at her, angry with himself for being so close to striking her down. “Go back with the others, please, it’ll be much safer.”
She offered him one of her enchanting smiles. “My place is not with them, my love, it has always been, and always will be at your side.” Her own tone then quickly turned to one of anger. “I know exactly where you’re going; you need to search Tarapoto for the fate of your brother. I will go there with you and before you start, do not even think about arguing with me, my Minco.” She leaned in up close to his face. “You should know by now who always wins our fights.”
He could not help himself as he sniggered at her little joke before kissing her cheek. “Very well, my love. I do not have the time to argue with you. Now listen to me: I just want to have a look around the town, and then we need to get the hell away from there.” He took hold of her hand and squeezed it hard. “Please, just this once, do as I say, when I say it. If you can do that, we can get in and out of there in next to no time.”
“Yes, my master,” she replied, giving him a mocking little bow, “I shall obey your every word.”
With a little shake of his head, Minco smiled and turned to head down the empty road again, with Inguill right at his heels. They could still hear Pizarro, shouting and screaming something to them, but they both deliberately chose just to ignore him.
*****
It took Minco and Inguill less than two hours to get to the outskirts of the famous town. Everything seemed far too quiet for Minco’s own liking. This once bustling place, one of the finest jewels of the great Incan empire, was now as still and silent as a graveyard. The couple saw none of the undead, so they inched their way in through the large main gates. Immediately, they saw the remains of the many battles that had taken place here. Gallons of blood, pounds of flesh and scores of bones littered the streets as they made their slow progress towards the town square. They had to tiptoe carefully through stinking carrion, wondering what had become of those they loved.
On their arrival at the centre of the city, all seemed quiet there too. Then it dawned on them that they could not see any human remains lying around the square. There may have been plenty of bloodstains but not one single piece of flesh or bone was to be seen anywhere.
Just as Minco was thinking that all of the undead must have long since left the city, the door of the Tambos over to their left creaked open and a solitary figure staggered out. With small, unsteady steps, it moved across the square to the mighty bell where it stopped and seemed to stand at attention. Even from this long distance, Minco could see who it was; he knew straight away that this thing standing before him had once been his brother.
It was Ayar.
“Please stay right here,” Minco said to Inguill, squeezing her hand gently before starting to make his way across the square towards him. “Don’t dare move from this spot.”
“Minco,” she replied, clearly in alarm. “That is not your brother out there anymore. All that he ever was has long since gone. My love, that thing standing there is just a shell, it’s only a monster.”
“I know that,” he said as a deep sadness reverberated in his voice. “But there is one last thing that I can do for him.” He held his golden axe slightly aloft, illustrating his intentions. “I’ll finish him off for good...here and now, he shall be set free from this curse.” Inguill gave him a smile and a gentle nod.
Silently, Minco made his way across the square to his little brother from behind, inching ever closer and closer. As he got to within ten feet of his target, the creature that was once his brother somehow sensed his arrival and slowly turned around to face him. Minco looked at his face. It had once been a mirror image of his own face when he was younger. Now it was all torn, ripped along one side and stained with blood. Looking deep into his brother’s eyes, all Minco could see now was a dream. Wispy grey clouds floated across his irises where the deep hazel of Ayar’s eyes had been before.
As his brother wheezed and rolled rigidly forward, Minco bared his teeth and raised his axe high above his head.
“Sorry,” was all he could say as the bronze blade swooped down and sliced half of his charging brother’s skull clean off. This blow sent the creature spinning through the air, only to land lifeless at his feet.
Minco dropped to his knees. He closed his eyes and prayed silently to the gods. He begged them to see it in their hearts to look out for his little brother in the afterlife. He hoped that somehow, his soul could still be saved from the underworld. It was then that Inguill’s screams snapped him back to the present.
She was pointing over towards the Tambos. Alerted by Ayar’s calls for fresh blood, dozens of the undead, mostly soldiers from the city, were pouring out from its doors and splitting into two distinctly separate groups. The larger grouping was heading towards Minco but a few of them were going straight over for Inguill. Immediately, he saw that there was no way he could possibly reach his love in time. His heart dropped a beat- he had done it again. He should have been there protecting her and now he was failing.
The first of the undead reached him, a young slim girl. No doubt, she once worked in the Tambos according to her dress. His new anger made light work of her feeble attempt to grab him. One swipe of his faithful axe removed her head. As her body fell away, Minco saw what was behind her. The approaching horde of the undead now numbered well over twenty. Even with his fine fighting skills, he would never be able to survive that size of an attack. Glancing to his left, Minco saw that the other half dozen of the monsters were almost at Inguill as well. She seemed rooted to the spot.
“Run!” he screamed at her. “Get out of here now! Get back to the others! I’ll meet you there!”
She blew him a kiss and ran back down the main road and towards the gates of the town. He could only hope that with the good head start that she had and the open road in front of her, she would be safe. After all, hope was about all he had left.
Minco, however, had a far bigger problem to face; his escape route out of the city had now been cut off. After glancing around, looking for options, he darted for the nearest house. He decided he would try for the rooftops. His speed and ability to keep ahead would be his best defence, and his only chance to get away. He shoulder charged, bursting straight through the doorway, before sliding uncontrollably across the floor for several feet. Looking down at the floor, Minco saw that it was completely covered in a thick coating of the innards of much more than just a single person. He had just slid along on the guts of a recently slaughtered family. This realisation, along with the horrendous stench of death filled his nostrils and made him gag.
He raced up the stairs, trying his best not to think of what had happened in this home, closing down his imagination before he could hear the screams of fear and pain that this family would have faced. Another kick to a door and he was out on the white, tiled roof terrace. All around him was the exact same sight; a vast sea of the same white rooftops. From here, the walls on the outskirts of the town seemed so far away. Yet the monsters coming up the stairs behind him seemed so very, very close.
He backed himself up as far away from the edge as he could before bursting into a sprint. Out of the corner of his eye, Minco saw t
he first of the undead spill out of the broken doorway. With every ounce of his energy, he leaped for the roof across the street.
As he landed, Minco rolled forward and glanced back to see that a stream of undead was also following his leap. Most of them did not make it across and fell down to the street and thankfully out of view. However, a few of them were still in good enough condition to make the distance. Those landed near Minco and a few more were clinging onto the ledge.
Minco did not wait to get a look at how the rest were faring; as soon as he was back up on his feet, he was racing to the opposite edge and launching himself again to the next roof. Over and over again, he leapt and leapt from house to house. Each time, the undead were in hot pursuit. As he flew through the air, he could see there was also a horde of the undead flooding along the stone streets below, following his escape route.
When he reached a rooftop only two away from the high wall, Minco realised that the undead were still keeping up with him, both from behind and from below. It was at this point that it became clear the outside wall was going to be far too high for him to reach with just a jump from a rooftop. The streets below were also far too busy to be an option. He needed a change in his plan, and he needed to come up with it now.
Grinding to a dramatic halt, as he landed in the middle of his next rooftop, he walked along the edge, removing the axe from the loop at his waist and waited. It did not take long for four of the beasts to join him. He looked behind him and saw that no more were following. There was a chance, no matter how small, and he was prepared to take it with both hands.
The first of the undead soldiers ran straight for him, arms outstretched. A deep rage was set deep in its eyes. Its lack of control made it an easy target. With a little side step, Minco let the charging creature pass. The first swipe of his trusty axe, he severed its spinal column. As it staggered, then stumbled, to fall face down on the tiled roof, Minco sent a second blow deep into the back of its skull.